


Splitting Hairs

by Oxford Comma (shatterdame)



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Angst, Blood, Fluff, Gottbleed Week, Haircuts, Hemophobia, M/M, the boys finally get together, whoops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-27
Updated: 2014-11-27
Packaged: 2018-02-27 04:46:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2679662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shatterdame/pseuds/Oxford%20Comma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermann's hair is getting long and Newt just wants to help.</p><p>Some questions are answered concerning their feelings for each other, Hermann's leg and the infamous undercut.</p><p>***Features bully Mr. Gottlieb and brothers</p>
            </blockquote>





	Splitting Hairs

**Author's Note:**

> This includes my own personal headcanon concerning Hermann's leg / backstory and is in no way assumed to be true... unless you want it to be because I researched it a lot c'mon guys just humor me.
> 
> Unbeta-ed: all my mistakes!
> 
> Scroll to the end for notes / translations (lots of German eyooo) :)

   As he went to write out the solution to his equation, Hermann’s fingernails scratched loudly against the chalkboard. He winced, drawn out of his mathematical stupor. Looking down at his hand, he frowned. He let the miniscule nub of chalk roll from his palm, dropping to the lab floor. After burning through three pieces of chalk, perhaps it was time to take a break. Sighing, he dragged his hands through his hair, unknowingly smearing white powder in thick streaks above his ears. He tugged experimentally - it was getting so long. He had been pushing it back almost every day now - when it was down it would hang over his brows and brush his glasses, distracting him. The undercut had grown out significantly as well - long enough that, when particularly exhausted, Hermann would absently twirl it between his fingers while calculating. When wet, it curled under his ears and tickled his neck. He hated it this long. He’d get it cut, he thinks, if only the world would stop ending for a few minutes and allow him to sneak out to a decent barber. He wondered if his favorite barber was still open. Or alive. He briefly entertains the idea of cutting it himself before having a flashback to that incident when he was 10. He remembers the blood swirling around the porcelain sink, running pink where it mingled with the water. He sways a bit on his feet.

 

   “Hey Herms! What’s up - whoa, you okay?” Newton strode into the lab, hands full of various wrapped snacks, to see Hermann supporting himself heavily against the ladder.

 

   “Yes, Newton, I am quite alright.”

 

    “Are you sure?” Newton dumped the contents onto his desk before turning to Hermann, hands on his hips. “No, ‘don’t call me that!’ or ‘Dr. Geiszler!’ or ‘fuck you’? I think something’s up. Is your blood sugar low? Don’t ask why, but I managed to scrounge up just about every last Rice Krispies Treat the ‘Dome is hiding so -”

 

    “No - Newton, I’ll pass thank you.” Hermann’s voice was calm but his knuckles were white where he gripped the rung of the ladder.

   “Uhhh I dunno, dude. How long were you up there today? Have you eaten anything? Is it your leg?” Hermann shook his head through the barrage of questions, unsure how to field his concern. He wasn’t used to being the subject of questioning - that job usually fell to him. 

 

   “No, no, I’m just - a bit dizzy is all.” A memory of his father surfaced without warning, a vision of him walking in on the aftermath of the butchered haircut and shouting a litany of swears in German. He meant to chuckle, but it came out as more of a whimper. He must be exhausted, he thought, if he was dredging up memories of his father. Newton jumps visibly at the sound, rushing to his side. 

 

   “Heyyyy, buddy, whoa…. Take a seat, alright?” Newton reached beside him and dragged up a chair, gently maneuvering Hermann into it. The concern was evident on Newton’s face and Hermann immediately felt guilty. He huffed out another sigh and went to push his hair back again when Newton’s hands came up to lightly grasp his wrists.

 

   “Wait! You’ve got chalk on your hands, dude.” Hermann froze, the warmth of Newton’s hands spreading down his forearms. He suddenly felt far too warm for his tweed jacket. 

 

   “Oh - I’m too late -” Newton started to chuckle, releasing his wrists to rub his fingers through the hair at the sides of his head. “You’ve got white streaks in your hair, man. You look about 50.” Hermann’s cheeks flushed and he stared straight ahead at Newton’s tie. He felt the tips of his ears go hot as Newton tried to brush the chalk from the strands above. He watched Newton’s tight button down as it shifted with his ministrations. It must have once been a very bright white but now it remained a sort of grey and slightly translucent, the faces of several different kaiju peeking through.

 

   “Your hair’s getting really long, Herms. Don’t you usually cut it by now?” Hermann came back to himself, brushing Newton’s hands away.

 

   “Yes, I’m aware Newton. I apologize my current state of  grooming isn’t up to your standards.” 

 

   “Oh, don’t be like that, dude. I’m just saying, I could help.” Hermann rolled his eyes, pushing back in his chair.

 

   “Oh? How? Take me to some seedy tattoo-parlor slash hair cuttery, let them wreak havoc with a blunt razorblade - dye it neon green or something of the sort?” Newton snorted.

 

 

   “Now who’s the dramatic one? I cut my own hair, dude. And I could cut yours, too.” Hermann shook his head. Of course he did.

 

   “Not in a million years, Newton.”

 

   “Oh come onnnnnnnnn, man” Newton whined, dropping to his knees. “I, like, missed my calling! Well, not really - but if the whole kaiju biologist thing fell through, and all my other doctorates became null and void, I could probably - “

 

   “No, Newton.” Hermann tried to push his chair back, nearly tipping with the effort. Newton followed him backwards, placing his hands on his thighs to steady him. Hermann blinked rapidly.

 

   “I used to cut all the guys’ hair at MIT! Some girls, too!”

   “No.”

 

   “Pleeeeease! Oh man I love cutting hair!” Newton was squirming, pushing his palms into Hermann’s trousers, trapping him. “You look like even more of an old man with it this long! It’s unbearable!” Newton laughed loudly and Hermann growled. Newton’s thumb brushed ever-so-lightly over his knee and he panicked. He twisted his hand into Newton’s tie, pulling him incredibly close, noses almost brushing.

 

   “Nein, nein und abernals nein!” Hermann was fuming, face red and hot. The tension fizzled until he felt Newton’s hands leave his thighs. Hermann felt a thrill of victory flare in his gut for a split second until Newton’s hands ghosted across the sides of his neck, sliding up into the hair at the nape of his neck. Hermann’s breath caught as he spread his fingers experimentally before flexing them. Newton’s head tilted forward as he gave a slight tug. His breath floated over Hermann’s ear.

 

   “Ich gebe eine gut Unterschnitt." 

 

 

***

 

   Hermann shook his head at his reflection, staring back at him from his full-length mirror. He was unsure how he got here, sitting in his bathroom, devoid of his suit jacket and waiting for Newton to return with his collection of hair cutting equipment. It was rather late, probably midnight, and he was feeling it. The heated moment he’d shared with Newton seemed to squeeze every last ounce of fight out of him, leaving him confused and his leg throbbing. He twirled a stray piece under his ear thoughtfully. If he focused hard enough he could still feel Newton’s fingertips ghosting over his neck. He shivered, embarrassed by his reaction, flushed and squirming as he was under Newton’s attentions. For the thousandth time this week, Hermann quietly talked himself off the ledge. He reminded himself that Newton’s excitement was not reserved for him. He approached his affections with brutal rationale.  Newton was easily provoked and tactile with everyone regardless of status. Hermann would not be lost to childish daydreams. He rubbed the remaining chalk from his hands, knowing he was never part of the equation.

 

   “Dude!” Newton burst through the bathroom door, hands full again. “Your bathroom is massive! What gives?” Hermann looked over his right shoulder towards the sink where his cane stood, propped against the counter.

 

   “Oh… oh yeah, totally, I forgot, man, I’m sorry -”

 

   “Newton.” Hermann shook his head. “It’s alright.” Newton’s face seemed far away for a moment, biting his lip. Hermann’s fingers curled tightly under the chair, trying to keep himself from lunging forward and… doing what, exactly?

 

   “Okay, so -” Newton broke the moment, abruptly dumping the tools onto the counter, spreading them out and plugging some in. “I’ve got your basic shears, your combs, your electric razor - “

 

   “Mein gott, Newton. Do be careful with that - do you think you should be doing this, at this hour?” Newton scoffed.

 

   “Trust me, dude!” He gave Hermann’s shoulders a squeeze, his fingers sinking gently into his sweater-vest and massaging slightly. “Surgeon’s hands.” Hermann’s head drooped slightly forward.

 

   “You’re not a surgeon, Newton.”

 

   “And you’re not an 80-year-old man, but not for lack of trying!” Hermann groaned noncommittally, trying not to lean into Newton’s hands.

 

   “Whoa, man, don’t fall asleep on me! I could totally slip and - “ Newton dragged his index finger across Hermann’s throat, making a choking noise.

 

   “Newton - “

 

   “I’m kidding, Herms, kidding! Trust me, I could do this in my sleep - well actually there was this one time when I visited Harvard - “ Hermann opened his mouth, but Newton’s hand closed over it quickly. Hermann kept his lips in a tight line.

 

   “Shhhhhh… don’t worry, Dr. Gottlieb, this won’t hurt a bit.” Newton turned towards the sink, rummaging through his assortment. He hummed quietly, returning with a comb and a particularly vibrant towel. 

 

   “Newton, are those Kaiju?” He draped the towel around Hermann’s shoulders with a flourish, tilting his head this way and that.

 

   “Maybe. What’s it to ya?” Hermann started to shake his head before Newton’s hands stilled him.

 

   “Stay still, okay? Try to keep your disgust to yourself for a few minutes.” Newton’s hands began to card through his hair, coaxing out the longest sections. He pulled the pieces from behind his ears and stretched them over his cheekbones, slightly brushing his cheek in the process. Newton seemed to know all the tricks, but it all felt significantly more intimate than the motions of his regular barber. Without warning, Newton ran his hands all the way upwards, pulling the hair into a mini mohawk. He cracked a cheeky smile and wiggled his eyebrows.

 

   “Whaddaya think, Herms?” Hermann bit back a chuckle with a huff.

 

   “I don’t think so, Newton.”

 

   “Okay, okay you buzzkill. How do you want it?” He flattened his hair back out before running his hands back and forth through it again softly. Hermann relaxed fractionally with a sigh.

 

   “Ah… well, you know how I usually keep it… sort of longer on top, shorter on the sides and the back….”

 

   “Yeah yeah, that undercut you always have going on. And you’re sure you don’t wanna go green?” Hermann glared into the mirror as Newton waved him off. Newton started combing through the back, flattening it as he went. He worked upwards and eventually began to brush the chalk out of the sides, little huffs of laughter caressing Hermann’s ears as he went. Hermann flushed again and hoped Newton was too busy to notice. When he finished combing, he reached over and grabbed the shears with his free hand. Hermann’s back went ramrod straight in response.

 

   “Hey, whoa, it’s okay! Just scissors. This is my life’s work, cutting things up -”

 

   “Well, Newton, I am not one of your slimy, radioactive experiments and I’d appreciate it if you would just -” Newton stepped back, hands up, and Hermann realized he had raised his voice.

 

   “...Es tut mir leid, Newton.”

 

   “You really don’t like haircuts, huh?”

 

   “I have some unfortunate memories in relation to my hair, yes. You may continue, I’m alright now.” Newton gave him a reassuring smile.

 

   “I will not hurt you I promise, cross my heart and hope to - be eaten by a kaiju.”

 

   “I’m sure…” Hermann allowed himself a small smile in response. Newton slowly ran the comb through the back of his head, stopping nearly at the end before shearing off an inch or so.

 

   “See? Wasn’t so bad, was it?”

 

   “Surprisingly, no.” Newton flashed another grin before returning to his hair. Hermann closed his eyes and listened to the rhythmic swishing of the shears, lulling him into a peaceful moment.

 

   “So… those bad memories. What happened?” Hermann’s eyes shot open and he went slightly rigid again.

 

   “I mean - you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to -”

 

   “No… no, Newton, it’s quite alright.”

 

   “Bad tattoo-artist-slash-hairstylist?” Hermann chuckled.

   “Not quite. I tried to cut it myself.”

 

   “Oh yeah?”

 

   “Yes - I was ten-years-old. I was tired of having my hair long - it was distracting and I needed to focus on my studies. I didn’t want to ask my father or my brothers - they didn’t really understand my fascination with numbers in the first place, they only would have tormented me further. It went about as well as expected - I grabbed some rusty scissors from the tool shed and climbed up on the bathroom counter. It went from bad to worse when my glasses slipped off of my nose and I lost my depth perception and proceeded to jab the scissors into the back of my head…." Hermann closed his eyes and Newton paused.

 

   “I’m not too terribly fond of blood and so when I looked down and it was dripping into the sink -” He swallowed, opening his eyes again slowly. “...I must have fainted. I woke up to my father standing over me, pulling me up by my shirt, cursing and spitting. Needless to say, he was not very happy. There was a lot of blood.” When Hermann swayed a bit, Newton’s hands came up to steady him.

 

   “Hey - hey you okay?” Hermann nodded, forcing a smile.

 

   “I was wary of getting my hair cut for a long time. I still have a scar….” Hermann’s hand gestured towards the back of his head. Newton was working his way up over his ears.

 

   “Oh man. So - why this haircut then? I mean, it’s very specific. It’s very - military. You don’t seem like a shoot-em-up kinda guy.”

 

   “I’m not. Like I said, my brothers were always bullying me about my studies and when the first Kaiju attacked, I thought I needed to prove myself. I enlisted in the academy, hoping eventually to be a Jaeger pilot.”

 

   “Oh…” Newton stopped again, making eye contact with him in the mirror before moving around to the front.

 

   “I was doing well. Really well, actually. I was passing all of my simulator tests with flying colors - pardon the phrase.” Hermann huffed out a heavy chuckle. “I was a few months out from graduating when Raythe swept through Okhotsk Sea. We managed to get to a bunker, but I tripped just as a section of the roof collapsed. I was trapped for less than an hour but it felt like a lifetime. My leg was completely crushed - I thought I was going to die there, bleeding out on the cement floor.” Hermann felt dizzy again. He watched Newton’s shirt shift with his breathing and he tried to match him.

 

   “They eventually dug me out, but my leg was destroyed. I was discharged a month later with the addition of a cane. They said I was lucky to be walking at all, but I wasn’t very thankful at the time. The academy approached me later, regretfully informing me I wouldn’t be able to complete my pilot training with my leg injury. They asked if I would consider putting my “above-average” mathematical studies to good use in the K-Science division. I accepted, but I never entirely left my training behind.”  


 

    Hermann took a deep breath, composing himself. Newton was silent, save for the quiet sound of the shears. He eventually put them down, picking up the electric razor. Newton’s hand wrapped gently around his neck, his thumb working small circles into his vertebrae as he began to shave down the undercut. Hermann appreciated the quiet, silently thanking Newton for the moment to himself. A few minutes pass as Newton works the razor up over his ears, brushing the stray hairs away as he goes. After a while, Newton’s silence seems deafening and Hermann considers asking him to say something, anything, when Newton turns the razor off and places it back on the counter. He brushes his fingers through the front, smoothes down the sizes and gently massages the undercut in the back before placing his hands back on Hermann’s shoulders.

 

   “All done.” He’s keeping his voice light, but his eyes give him away. His eyebrows are drawn together and his eyelids look heavy. His thumbs move to brush Hermann’s neck. 

 

   “Newton - it’s perfect.” And he means it. It’s tight and cropped where it counts and longer where it falls over his high hairline. He moves to run his hands through the back and the fuzziness is comforting.

 

   “Thank you.” His fingers drift upwards, finding the scar at the back of his head. He can feel it clearly but knows the hair is just long enough to cover it. He frowns, running his fingertip across the jagged curve. He looks up to catch Newton’s gaze in the mirror. Something changes in his eyes, as if he’s made a decision. 

 

   His hand comes up to push Hermann’s out of the way, replacing it with his own fingertips. He runs the pad of his thumb across it once before bending down slowly to press a kiss there. Hermann’s intake of breath is loud in the silent room. Newton exhales.

 

   “I’m sorry.” He nuzzles his nose against the scar.

 

   “I’m not.” Newton’s head reappears over his shoulder, eyes inquisitive, his fingers ghosting over his jaw. Hermann’s heart hammers against his ribs. He imagines erasers, banging together inside his torso, clouds of dust billowing up and out of his lungs like smoke. 

 

   He starts to panic again. Every thought he’s fought to suppress is breaking free and prickling behind his eyes. Even now he fights - rationalizing the chaos. Newton is all color and paint and ink and Hermann is only black and white, chalk and board. If Newton cut into him he’d be barren and dry - a desert, a Dali. Newton is a Pollack, stretching wall to wall, beckoning his visitors while Hermann is slightly bigger than a postcard and the guards never let you get close enough. He’s not enough. Even if Newton does what he’s  not  _going to do_ , he’ll regret it. He doesn’t want Newton to have regrets - Hermann has plenty for the both of them.

 

   “I can hear you thinking.” Newton breathes against his cheek. “Stop.” 

 

   The levy breaks and Hermann turns the fraction of an inch and presses their lips together. 

 

   It becomes clear Newton only wanted Hermann to make the first move because afterwards, he is everywhere. His other hand comes up to cup Hermann’s face fully and he’s kissing him properly. He’s surprisingly gentle in his approach, engaging Hermann in long and slow kisses that leave both of them enough time to breathe in between. Newton is still leaning over him and Hermann reaches his hands out to grip his sides. He gives a slight tug, motioning for Newton to straddle him.

 

   “Wait - your leg - “

 

   “Newton, bitte, mein gott.”

 

   Newton shivers and throws his leg over Hermann’s lap, gently lowering himself to sit across his thighs. Newton presses their foreheads together.

 

   “Is das gut?” Hermann nods slightly, sighing against Newton’s lips.

 

   “Perfekt.”

 

   Hermann feels like he’s splintering apart. His body is reacting of it’s own accord, as if he’s been preparing for this since handshake number one. It’s a miracle, really, it is because for once there are no numbers. There are no theorems or algorithms and Schrodinger’s cat has been let out of the bag. His hands keep making their way up Newton’s sides and his spine and back down again, pulling him incrementally towards himself. Newton’s hands work up into his hair, clearly admiring his handiwork while mussing it up completely. The gesture is so  Newton  it makes him chuckle against his lips. He keeps brushing Hermann’s scar, drawing circles around it, and Hermann tries to pull him even closer. 

 

   “I’m sorry-” Newton pulls back abruptly, eyes wide as Hermann stumbles.

 

   “Dude, don’t you dare apologize right now -” Hermann shakes his head.

 

   “- for stopping our correspondence years ago. I was intimidated and jealous -”

 

   “Why?” Hermann traces the kaiju peeking out from his shirt-sleeve, following the curl of ink with his fingertip.

 

   “You were so - full of life. Confident. Radiant. I knew I’d always be in your shadow - and not in the way I wanted to be.” Newton pulls his hand away, bringing it to his lips. He kisses each of the knuckles individually and it is the most intimate thing Hermann’s ever experienced.

 

   “Never. You’re always number one, dude, you always have been.” Hermann smiles, brushing Newt’s cheekbone.

 

   “Maybe I can repay you for this.” Newton quirks an eyebrow.

 

   “We should definitely move to somewhere more horizontal then -”

 

   “I was thinking more along the lines of a shave - but maybe afterwards.”

 

   “Yeah, afterwards. Definitely afterwards.”

**Author's Note:**

> Translations (because I don't know how to use hover text! Sorry! :( ):  
> “Nein, nein und abernals nein!” = "No, no and again no!"  
> “Ich gebe eine gut Unterschnitt.” = "I give a good undercut."  
> "Mein gott" = "My god"  
> "Newton, bitte, mein gott." = "Newton, please, my god."  
> "Ist das gut?" = "Is this good?"  
> "Perfekt." = "Perfect."
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> The correspondence refers to the letters Newton and Hermann exchange before meeting for the first time and promptly parting ways (even though I don't like that idea blah :( ). This is why Newton doesn't know about Hermann's leg.


End file.
